Part 28 (1/2)

Ernesto came outside to stand by my table again. I said, ”It is a beautiful day, Ernesto, is it not?”

He squinted up toward the sky and shrugged.

I said, ”Would you like a beer or something? I would be happy to buy.”

He went inside and came back out with two beers, ice cold this time. He gave one to me and sat down at the table with the other. He said, ”You are American?”

”I am indeed.”

”My brother lives in Houston, Texas.” He p.r.o.nounced it ”Oo-stone Tay-has.”

I said, ”Houston is a fine city.”

”He says it is much bigger than Guate.”

”That may be true, but size is not the most important thing. You also have to consider history. And culture. And civic pride. In all those ways, it seems to me your city is superior.”

He shrugged again. He took a drink of beer. Cars and trucks went by. Old men played dominoes. Ernesto finished his beer and went back inside. I remained where I was, waiting.

If I had been given good information about that place, I figured Valentin Vega must know I was there by that time. I wondered how the man would play it. Would he ignore me? Would he come himself to meet me? Would he send someone to meet me? Would he send someone to try to kill me? The restaurant address was my only lead, so I could only wait and see.

The shadows lengthened. Lights mounted on the wall behind me were illuminated. I remained alone, and alive.

Ernesto emerged again. He said, ”Dinner?”

”What is good?”

”Pork.”

”What else?”

”Spaghetti.”

”Does it come with tomato and meat sauce?”

”Of course.”

”And the meat in the sauce is?”

”Pork.”

”Excellent.”

Two hours later, Ernesto emerged to say, ”We close.”

I stood up. ”Thank you very much,” I said. ”The hotel is across the park?”

”Just there,” he said, pointing.

”Is it safe to walk across the park after dark?”

”No place is safe in Guate after dark.”

I gave Ernesto enough money to pay for the meals and the drinks, plus another tip of two hundred quetzals.

”If anyone should ask, Valentin Vega perhaps, would you please tell them I am at the hotel?”

Taking the money, Ernesto shrugged.

I might not be feeling suicidal anymore, but I hadn't traveled all that way to avoid trouble, either. I picked up my bag, crossed the street, and entered the shadows of the park.

36.

I overslept. Probably I would have slept much later, except for the insistent pounding on the hotel room door.

I called, ”One moment,” got out of bed, and slipped into my blue jeans and a s.h.i.+rt. After maybe ten seconds, whoever was outside started pounding again. I called ”One moment” again and sat down on the side of the bed to put on my shoes.

It wasn't much of a hotel room. Creaking ceiling fan, no bathroom, old-fas.h.i.+oned washstand in the corner with one threadbare towel, and a single window overlooking Columbus Park. I had just begun to tie the laces on my second shoe when the door flew off its hinges and landed on the floor in front of me.

Four men came in after the door. They all carried guns. I wasn't surprised to see that one of them was my new friend from the day before-Ernesto. Everything was proceeding according to plan.

I said, ”Good morning.”

Ernesto gestured toward the door with his gun. ”We go.”

”Sure,” I said, standing up. I had finished with my laces anyway.

Ernesto and another gunman went ahead of me, and two remained behind as we walked along the dimly lit interior hallway, then down the stairs to the street level lobby, which was only a small room with a counter in one corner. The man behind the counter didn't bother to look up from a magazine when we walked through.

At the curb outside the door stood an old Ford Econoline van. The sliding side door was open. The men herded me straight across the sidewalk and into the van. The entire rear of the van was empty. There weren't even any seats. Three of the men got in with me. Ernesto went around front and got into the pa.s.senger side. There was a fifth guy already behind the wheel. One of the men in back with me slammed the door closed. We all sat cross-legged on the steel deck.

The van rocked away from the curb on its old suspension like a s.h.i.+p tossed at sea. There were no side windows, so I couldn't see much from where they made me sit, but that didn't matter much, since I didn't know the city anyway.

One of the men in back with me handed his weapon to another one and said, ”Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

When I did that, he pulled my wrists together and slipped a plastic twist tie around them. He didn't notice when I flexed my wrists and held them slightly apart. As soon as he was done, I turned back around and went to work on getting my hands free. He had left me wiggle room. It was good to know they were amateurs. Once I was certain I could slip out of the restraint, I stopped trying.

We took a lot of turns. I figured they were checking for tails. After a while the driver slowed and s.h.i.+fted into low gear. The engine whined as we headed up a steep incline. We leveled off, turned left, then right, then left again, and then we climbed some more. About forty-five minutes after we left the hotel, the van stopped.

Ernesto got out. A few seconds later, he opened the sliding door and said, ”Come.” He kept his handgun aimed at my stomach.

I got out and looked around while the others followed. We were on a level place high above the city. From there I could see that Guate was essentially in a hanging valley. On the horizon were three mountains so perfectly conical they could only be volcanoes. One of them was even spewing smoke. The mountainside below us and behind us was obscured by a dense jungle.

”Follow me,” said Ernesto.

”You know, those pork chops were pretty good,” I said. ”But the spaghetti recipe needs more garlic or something. It was a little bland.”